Discussing Life in Marks & Spencer

I stopped for a late-morning coffee and scone at Marks & Spencer, located at the corner of Grafton and Duke Streets. The small meal has become a habit I have developed while travelling in Ireland. I chose a secluded corner at the window bar to write and watch the world go by. It was a beautiful Sunday morning in Dublin and there were several people out. I had a prime seat to observe a man making huge soap bubbles with long pieces of string and yarn attached to two sticks. This seems to be an increasingly popular activity for street performers across Europe.  Just down the street a talented folk/rock band drew a large crowd and provided a soundtrack to my contemplation. Meanwhile, the bubble maker was very popular with the under-five set and their parents.

An elegant Irish woman, wearing a tan colored rain coat, came and sat right next to me. She had a small tea in a takeaway cup. Seeing that I was alone, maybe she surmised that I could use the company. We exchanged pleasantries and she offered, “This is a nice corner isn’t it?” (There was no writing now; that would be rude.) We began talking about the young man who was making bubbles on the street. “It is a hard way to making a wage,” she offered. I said that it was nice to see the children enjoying themselves. There was a moment of silence. She noted that the children were helping him pick up coins off the ground, where people missed when throwing coins into his box. Children all want to help in some way, she said. We live in a world, she continued, where young people are keen to help. She was amazed at the number of young people who volunteered at the same hospice where she did. Her own grandson, age 19, called at least once a fortnight to see if she needed garbage out or anything done – and always refuses pay. 

Our conversation turned when my new found friend posited that children were more aware of the world today than when she was growing up. I gently disagreed, saying that children in America were often overprotected and lacked a certain empathy. She continued saying that when she was young, she had no idea how other people lived, especially in the North (a reference to the “troubles” in Northern Ireland). She felt like children in her day were protected from the problems that many people faced. She could not wait to leave Ireland. The island seemed so small and stifling; everyone and everything seemed the same. At 17, she left for London, met a Dublin man, and moved to Australia. They returned to London for a few years before permanently returning to Ireland in 1993. Upon her return, however, she loved being in Ireland. “It has opened up so much today.” The diversity and all the wonderful things people brought to the island made her love her home once again.

After about twenty minutes, she took a sip of her tea and looked at her watch. She had to be going, and was “due to be across the road at half twelve.” I told her I was glad we had the opportunity to chat. She grabbed my hand and gave it a firm handshake, “My very best wishes. God bless you.” I smiled and replied, “God bless you.”